


A Winter's Tale

by oxygenforthewicked



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Banter, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Iambic Pentameter Apparently, M/M, May feature smut later, Multi, Sarcasm, Satinalia (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxygenforthewicked/pseuds/oxygenforthewicked
Summary: Winter has arrived at Skyhold, but the halls have never been warmer.***This will be a collection of works for the "12 Days of Satinalia" prompt for the month of December. Each day will flow together in the same story, but each chapter will feature different characters and relationships (I might repeat a few, though. I do what I want).Most characters and situations belong to Bioware. No copyright infringement intended.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fenris/Female Hawke, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Zevran Arainai/Mahariel, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Series: Smoke and Mirrors [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/577927
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Day One: A World At Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day One Prompt: Snowball Fight (Rating: T)
> 
> Marian Hawke has arrived at Skyhold to prepare for the fight at Adamant. Preparations have been slowed in honor of Satinalia, but she's having a hard time feeling up to joining in the holiday spirit, until she gets an idea.

The snow fell gently from the clouded twilight sky as Marian Hawke stood on the platform leading to the main hall of Skyhold, the icy air nipping her bare arms. She liked it here at night, when the chaotic noise of the day waned into the soft whispers of night. The Herald’s Rest was bustling with energy, and she could already hear the boisterous laughter of red-faced patrons letting loose after a long day of defending the world from monsters.

It reminded her of the way things used to be. _But that was a long time ago._ Before Anders and the war, before everyone she knew and loved scattered to the wind.

“Ever heard of a cloak, Hawke?” Varric said as he stepped beside her.

“I’ve heard of them,” she replied with a smirk. “Fanciful children’s tales, I’m told.”

“Come on, you don’t want to get frostbite,” he sighed. “I don’t want to have to explain to Fenris why some of your fingers and toes have gone missing.”

She snorted. “Ever the worry-wart. I’m Fereldan, remember? Cold like this doesn’t bother me.”

He lifted his hands. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A quiet fell between them as they watched the snow fall.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt like this,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t need to worry about watching my back. Like it’s possible for the world to be at peace.”

“The war isn’t over, you know,” he said quietly.

She quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t need to tell me that,” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled softly. “I know what you mean, though. It’s easier to pretend here. At least for now.”

Hawke made her way down the steps to the courtyard. Looking up at the sky, she squinted as snowflakes fell across her face. It was getting heavier, the already thick powder of white on the ground getting thicker, covering the tips of Hawke’s boots.

“It reminds me of winters in Lothering,” she said with a smile. “Bethany would build snow castles and I would freeze them in ice to keep them from falling apart. And then Carver, of course, would try to knock them down. Bethany was furious whenever he did, so I made a game out of it. Enemy kingdoms going to battle, each trying to knock down each other’s fortresses with snowballs.”

Varric was quiet as she bit her lip. She hadn’t talked about Bethany in a while. It was easier as the years went on, but the pain never really went away. Hawke looked down at Varric, who was watching her with sympathetic eyes. She knew that gaze. The gaze of someone who wouldn’t pry if she didn’t want him to, but was willing to listen. For someone who talked so much, he was an impeccable listener.

She let out a heavy sigh. “Well, anyway. The past is gone, no use dwelling on it.”

Varric frowned. “No, but sometimes it’s much better to let it out. Burying it too deep doesn’t usually end well.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

He shook his head. “We were talking about you, not me.”

“Mmhmm,” she said. She stepped over toward the center of the courtyard, sliding her boot across the ground, a small snow pile forming.

“But trust me, deflecting everything with humor only helps so much.”

She hummed as she knelt to the ground, running her fingers through the soft powder.

“Now I know what you’re thinking, I do that all the time, but I really think if you–”

Soft powder collided with his face.

Hawke let out a giggle as Varric brushed the snow off of his face. “Now, was that really called f-”

Another ball of snow hit his shoulder. He sighed. “Fine, if _that’s_ the game you want to play...” He knelt to the ground and gathered up a ball of snow, smirking as he saw Hawke with her back turned as she gathered her own snow.

He stood, readying his aim as another snowball collided with his face. He wiped the snow and chucked his own snowball in her direction, barely grazing her arm as she dodged out of the way. She laughed as she scooped more snow and threw it. He ducked this time, and tossed another one her way, hitting her square on the nose.

He laughed as she brushed herself off, her nose wrinkling.

“What’re doing out here?” a female voice said behind them. Hawke turned to see Sera, the elven archer in the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Well. ‘Elven’ archer was a loose term, Hawke supposed. She didn’t seem to particularly like elves in general, despite being one. “Snowball fight? Count me in!”

Sera threw a snowball at Hawke, the snow shattering on her shoulder. Hawke grinned and tossed another one, which the blonde deftly dodged.

Sera cackled. “You’ll have to try better than that!”

The door to the Herald’s Rest opened and several people piled out as they curiously watched the three of them. Other patrons soon joined in, rolling up their own snowballs and tossing them, their laughter filling the air of the courtyard. Hawke dodged several snowballs, only to collide with an enormous blast of snow. She blinked and noticed The Iron Bull smirking at her.

“Oh it’s on,” Hawke said, throwing another at him.

She managed to dodge most of the Qunari’s shots, and landed most of hers.

“What is the meaning of this?” a stern voice said from the steps leading to the main hall. Everyone turned to see Commander Cullen standing, hands on his hips as he assessed the scene like a disappointed mother. “Is this really–”

A rogue snowball flew through the air and smacked him in the face, painting his features in white powder.

The courtyard became deathly still.

“Who threw that?” he said, his voice deceptively calm as he brushed the snow away.

A form stepped out of the crowd – a slight elf with long dark hair and elegant branches of Dalish vallaslin across her face. The Inquisitor.

Cullen’s lips thinned. “Inquisitor, I don’t–”

The Inquisitor cleared her throat. “Now, Commander, you wouldn’t truly spoil everyone’s fun this close to Satinalia, would you?” Her voice was sharp, commanding – the voice of the leader of the faithful.

He sighed, defeated. “Fine, but just leave me out of it.” He turned to walk back up the stairs, and a snowball exploded across the fur of his heavy cloak. He whirled, his eyes full of deadly rage.

The Inquisitor covered her mouth as she stifled a giggle.

“That’s it,” he said, and all at once he was throwing a ball of snow and the courtyard unfroze, snowballs wildly flying in every direction.

Hawke smiled as she took a step back, letting herself slip into the shadows. She made her way up the stairs to the battlements, sighing as she watched the joy below.

“You just wanted to make them laugh, as Bethany did,” a calm voice said beside her. “Freshly fallen snow crunching beneath your feet as the laughter bubbles in the distance. Your eyes burn at the memory, afraid that if you remember too much, it will disappear forever.”

The boy named Cole – _boy, spirit, perhaps something in between like Anders_ – peered at her. “She would have wanted you to remember her that way. They all would."

“I know,” she said softly, resting her forearms on the stone wall.

Cole looked out at the crowd. “They are happier because of what you and Varric did. You help them remember that not everything is death and darkness.”

“I suppose my work here is done, then?” she smirked.

“No, it isn’t,” he replied.

She snorted. “Not one for jokes, I take it?”

He tilted his head to the side. “I like jokes. Jokes make people laugh. You like to make people laugh, even when it doesn’t seem like the right time to them.”

“Most people don’t like it,” she sighed, standing up. She walked across the battlements, letting the quiet fall over her. She turned around and saw that she was once again alone.

“He is an odd one,” she said softly as she continued on through the towers until she reached the bridge that looked out toward the main gate. She would have to leave soon, she knew. Adamant Fortress awaited, and the bloody fight to stop the end of the world would continue. She could feel herself getting so very tired. She rested her hands on the stone wall, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of dread in the back of her mind.

Soft footsteps approached her, and out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the elven apostate named Solas step beside her.

“Not enjoying the revelry, I take it?” he asked.

She bit her lip.

“Apologies if I have disturbed you,” he said gently.

“No, it’s quite alright,” Hawke replied. “I don’t mind the revelry. It just reminds me of things I would rather not remember. Happier times, I suppose.”

“I see,” he said. “It is not often than one tries to forget happier memories. Though I suppose I can see the appeal. It can cause you to lose focus on the tasks at hand.”

Hawke laughed. “It’s a rather depressing way to look at the world when you phrase it like that.”

“True,” he admitted.

“But you’re right,” she said. “In a sense, anyway. I’d like to remember them when everything is over. But wistful remembrance now doesn’t solve any of our problems.”

The door to the rotunda opened. “Chuckles! You found Hawke,” Varric said as he walked across the bridge to them.

Hawke smirked at the elf. “How did you earn _that_ nickname?” 

Solas pressed his lips together.

Varric stepped on the other side of her. “Chuckles, you should have joined us out there. It would probably be the most fun you’ve had in years.”

“I would have to disagree with you on that,” Solas replied.

“Right, because you just reek of fun,” Varric deadpanned. 

“I find enjoyment in quite a few things. I do not need to partake in childish entertainment.”

“You do realize how old that makes you sound, right?” Varric said, crossing his arms. “There’s no harm in fun and games every now and then. Besides, even the Inquisitor is out there having the time of her life.”

Solas looked between Hawke and Varric and sighed. “Thank you for the conversation, Champion. I will let you and Varric have your privacy.”

He turned around and disappeared into the rotunda.

“I see why you call him ‘Chuckles,’” Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.

Varric sighed. “I really wish he would let loose once in a while. You should have seen him the other night after he had too many glasses of wine. He ended up playing Diamondback with Blackwall. Chuckles took the man for everything he owned, including the clothes off his back.”

Hawke snickered. “Remind me not to play Wicked Grace with him, then.”

“Agreed,” Varric said. He looked up at her. “Why don’t you come back to the tavern for some drinks? I was going to tell them the one about Duke Prosper and the wyvern.”

“You sure you want to tell them _that_ one in front of Iron Bull?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Tiny has always been a good sport about that sort of thing.”

He looked up at her, the smile on his face fading. “Alright, Hawke, I get it. You want to be alone. It’s been hard after everything that’s happened. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

Hawke smiled down at him, and he walked away, disappearing into the tower. Hawke ran her fingers through her hair. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be with people, she supposed. She just didn’t want Varric to remember her like this. If something went wrong at Adamant, she wanted Varric to remember her the way she wanted to remember Bethany – pink-faced and laughing as their parents watched them play in the background.

And Fenris… _Maker, Fenris._ She wanted him to remember her as she was the night before she left. She hadn’t told him that she was leaving – she had woken up with the dawn and left a note on the bedside table. It was easier that way.

If that was the last time she would see him, she could live with that. She remembered the way his face was buried in a feather pillow as the warm Antivan breeze carried the smell of freshly baked bread and spices through the window. The sounds of the morning had echoed through the alleyway below the place they had made their home for the few years Hawke stayed in hiding. She had brought him with her after Kirkwall. They traveled to places she’d never dreamed of going, met people she wished she had always known – and some she would rather have not known at all. It all seemed so endless – it could have been forever. But after Carver’s letter… she realized she couldn’t hide away from the world anymore. The world and its problems would have always found its way to her, one way or another. And if she hadn’t slipped out of the room that morning, she knew Fenris would have followed her across the world without a second thought. But she didn’t want him getting mixed up in her mess all over again. His life had been difficult enough.

She rubbed her face, letting out a huff. Maybe she just needed a stiff drink. Or sleep. These days she couldn’t tell anymore. Something moved in the darkness outside the gate, catching her eye. She watched the shape move closer, and her expression hardened as the intruder grew closer.

The shape emerged from the darkness, and a cloaked person stepped into the lower courtyard, a horse in tow. The person looked up at her and stopped. Her heart nearly stopped as the person pulled their hood back, revealing stark white hair.

She couldn’t feel her legs. Not as they carried her into a run as she bolted through the tower and down the main steps, curving around the second set of stairs until she was at the base, her lungs burning as Fenris released the reins from his fingers. She took a step forward and he was already crossing the distance between them.

Her heart felt light – until she took in the look on his face.

_Shit._

Fenris lifted a scrap of paper. It was flimsy and looked like it had been crumpled and folded over and over again. “A letter? Really?” 

She chewed on her lip. “How did you know I was here?”

His face hardened. “Varric wrote to me.”

She sighed. _I will be having words with you later, Varric._

“Would you care to explain to me _why_ I had to get information about your whereabouts from Varric?”

She crossed her arms. “I explained why. Carver needed me, and I didn’t want to drag you back into another one of my problems.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. It had gotten longer. “And you thought that I wouldn’t even bother to look for you, either.”

She pressed her lips together. “I had hoped you wouldn’t, I suppose.”

His green eyes flashed. “After _everything_ we have been through, what makes you believe I wouldn’t have torn this world apart to be by your side?”

She squared her shoulders. “What makes you think that after everything we’ve been through, I would allow you to be put in danger again?”

“That was not your decision to make,” he snapped.

“It was _my_ decision to do this alone,” she replied. “If I had asked you to stay, would you have listened?”

He clenched his teeth, too prideful to answer.

“But you’re here now, so I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“No,” he sighed. His face softened. “I am pleased to see you, regardless.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face in the curve of his neck as she held him tightly. “I missed you,” she whispered against his skin.

He kissed her temple and pulled her face to his, kissing her softly. His skin was freezing against hers. Pulling back, she took his hands. “You’re freezing, Fenris. We should get you inside.”

“I would appreciate that,” he chuckled. Hawke wove her fingers through his, her heart full.

And for a moment, the world truly did feel at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was actually really fun to write. A lot tamer then I'm used to, but I'm happier with it than I thought I would be. Plus I love writing Fenris and Hawke again, I've missed them a lot. ❤ I also realized while writing it that I haven't actually ever posted a work that takes place during Inquisition, so this will be new 😂
> 
> Please note that while it's not necessary to read my other fic, Crimson Skies, that's my headcanon for this one. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Day Two: Of Masks and Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian would rather avoid the Satinalia party altogether, if he can get away with it. Unfortunately for him, Taelan Lavellan has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Under the Mistletoe 
> 
> In my headcanon, my Lavellan's brother also joins the Inquisition - mostly because Solavellan and Pavellan are my favorite ships. Annnd Taelan Lavellan is one of my favorite OCs. Anyway, here you go! (Rated T)

Dorian Pavus wasn’t much for celebrating Satinalia. In fact, he rather detested the whole affair. In the past, his parents would host lavish parties to celebrate the holiday, but it was all a clever ruse to show him off to other _altus_ families in hopes of securing the best match possible for him to marry. Luckily, the parties involved the traditional Satinalia masks, which he’d found provided an effective means of escape from being hounded all night. He would switch his mask and jacket several times, and his parents would assume he had disappeared. His parents grew suspicious of his games after a while, but he was thankfully never actually caught. He was lucky in that regard, at least. 

Dorian sat in a soft chair in the library, mindlessly thumbing through one of Genetivi’s tomes. While it was his usual hiding place from the eyes of superstitious Southerners who viewed him as they did every Tevinter mage, he was especially grateful for it today. The whole fortress was making merry and preparing for the festivities that would take place later that evening. He planned to avoid the entire affair altogether, if he could. He doubted the Fereldans wanted him there, anyway. Light footsteps fluttered up the steps around the corner toward him. He barely looked up as the footsteps halted.

“Yes?” he asked nonchalantly.

The intruder cleared her throat. He looked up and wrinkled his nose. “What in Andraste’s name are you wearing?” 

The Inquisitor, Lana Lavellan, stood before him wearing a bright green dress that had the strangest puffs and frills he’d ever seen. It was trimmed with gold to match the golden gloves that graced her hands. She looked like a poorly-wrapped Satinalia present.

“Josephine had it made for me,” she said miserably. “It’s supposed to be for the party tonight.” 

Dorian clicked his tongue. “Well that won’t do. Are you sure she can’t be reasoned with?”

“She said it's supposed to make me stand out from the crowd.”

“It will certainly do that,” he said, standing up. “I suppose it would be rather unfortunate if it met an untimely end before you can grace the Inquisition with its magnificent… presence.”

She raised an eyebrow. “An untimely end?”

“Of course. Anything could happen, the world is a dangerous place. Now go change before my eyes burn out of their sockets.”

She laughed. “Are you going to the party tonight?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m not feeling particularly festive.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, just delightful memories of my parents throwing eligible women at me. Left a bad taste in my mouth, I suppose.”

She hummed. “Well, perhaps it’s time to make new memories.”

“Maybe,” he sighed. “Then again, I could spend the night with the latest shipment of tomes Josephine procured for me and a bottle of wine.”

“Just think about it?”

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I will think about it. But only because I know you’ll be positively miserable without me.”

“Good,” she said with a smile. “Besides, I think my brother might be hoping you’ll be there, too.” 

With that, she turned on her heel and strode away. Dorian huffed.

Her brother. Taelan Lavellan, from Clan Lavellan, elder brother to the Herald of Andraste, and all-around troublemaker. He could have sworn he’d witnessed Cullen age ten years after some of the stunts that man pulled. He was rather protective of his sister in an endearing way, but would put himself in harm’s way to do it. He was crass, arrogant, and thought very highly of himself for someone too busy making a complete fool out of himself to realize how serious this entire situation was. Not to mention his blatant disregard for Dorian’s desire to be alone. Truly, the man was rather infuriating with all his smirking and ‘clever’ questions that were laced with innuendo. And to think, now he was telling his _sister_ that he was hoping to see him at the party? Dorian thought not. He would not be swayed by his moss-green eyes that seemed to always be holding some secret joke, or his long, dark gold hair that he kept half-shaved like he was attempting to be some sort of…. devilish rogue. No, he would not give Taelan the satisfaction. There was no way he could–

“Did you _see_ what my sister was wearing?” a warm voice pulled him instantly from his thoughts.

He looked up and cursed himself as the blush rose to his cheeks. But he schooled his expression. “I suggested that it should meet an untimely end before the night is through,” Dorian replied with a smirk.

Taelan laughed, and Dorian found himself smiling despite himself. _Kaffas._

“I don’t suppose you’d have a plan to facilitate such an accident?” the elf asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the bookshelf.

He was quite lean like most elves Dorian had met, though he was slightly taller and broader than most. He carried confidence with every movement, as though walking through the world completely unafraid of what consequences might come his way.

“Perhaps,” Dorian replied, looking back down at his book. A subtle dismissal, though he knew the man would pay it no mind. 

“Are you reading Gentivi again?” the elf asked.

Dorian pressed his lips together. “Keeping tabs on me, I see?” Dorian said.

“No,” he replied. “I’ve just noticed that you read it every time you’re being particularly reclusive.”

Dorian sniffed. “That’s not entirely true.”

Taelan smirked, the white lines of his _vallaslin_ wrinkling slightly. “So what was it this time? Mother Giselle again?”

Dorian lowered his book and looked at Taelan. “Shouldn’t you be helping the spymaster? Rooting out spies and other miscreants such as yourself?”

“Who says I’m not helping her right now?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Keeping an eye on me, then.”

“Well, you _are_ an evil Tevinter magister,” he said.

Dorian groaned. “I have _told_ you, not every mage from Tevinter is a magister. You Southerners all think we’re exactly the same, but it makes you all sound like uncivilized, imbecilic…” he stopped, realizing that Taelan looked like he was holding back a wild grin. “You are teasing me.”

Taelan laughed. “It got you to look up at me at least.”

Dorian huffed and turned back to his book. “Why do I even bother,” he muttered.

He barely noticed Taelan step forward and crouch in front of him, gently pulling his book down. The man looked up at him, his mossy eyes almost… concerned.

“What is it?” Dorian said, his voice more snappish than he intended.

“Dorian, you do realize you've read this five times already? Don’t you think it’s time that you stopped hiding away? No one is ever going to think of you differently if you don’t give them a chance to meet you. Believe me, I know.”

Dorian closed the book, his face hard. “Are you quite finished?”

Taelan sighed and stood up. “I suppose so,” he said as he stepped out of the nook. He turned back slightly. “I hope you’ll come to the party tonight. At least for a little while.”

Dorian said nothing as Taelan gave him a small wave before disappearing around the corner. He closed the book. Perhaps he was right. It felt strange attending parties and celebrating the holidays with the whole world threatening to collapse on itself, but he supposed everyone was allowed to let loose once in a while. And, he supposed, getting to know everyone might not be the worst thing.

He’d gotten to know some people in Lana’s inner circle. She had taken to him from the start when they had been trapped in the dark future together, so she regularly brought him along on missions. Most of her inner circle was still rather suspicious of him, save a few. Iron Bull wasn’t quite as hostile as he’d expected, and Sera was at least entertaining to talk to.

He stood up and slid his book back on the shelf before walking to the inner railing, resting his hands on it. Looking down at the freshly-painted frescoes on the lower level, he took in the new designs. Solas’s tastes were particularly… interesting. The art was beautiful, of course, but always left him feeling uneasy if he stared too long.

Dorian returned to his quarters. He decided he would go to the party, despite his previous desire to avoid Taelan at all costs. He and his sister had been kinder to him than he’d expected, despite him being from Tevinter. And despite his reservations about Taelan – he supposed he could admit he didn’t _entirely_ dislike his attentions. Some of the time, anyway. But he never quite knew if the man was being genuine. Truthfully, he'd seen him joke and flirt with nearly every person he came across. _Perhaps he just has that effect on people._ It didn't matter, Dorian thought, examining the contents of his wardrobe. If he ignored it, perhaps Taelan would get bored and bother someone else. But even in his resolve, he felt his own heart sink at the idea. 

***

Dorian stood at the door to Lana’s quarters, already regretting his decision. He gave the door a sharp knock. He had donned a dark red Tevinter-style doublet with gold trim and black trousers, and he would need to speak with Lana about a mask as well. If he was going to a Satinalia party, he wasn’t about to do it half-assed. Besides, they needed to do something about her dress anyway.

The door opened, and Vivienne stood before him.

“It’s the Tevinter,” she called up the stairs. 

"I do have a name, you know," Dorian said, crossing his arms. 

“Oh, Dorian, thank the Creators you’re here,” Lana called. “Come up!”

Vivienne eyed him appraisingly before stepping back to allow him inside.

Dorian went up the stairs to see Lana standing beside the fire, a seamstress working diligently at her side. She was no longer wearing the dress from before – rather, she was in a dark green boatneck gown that hugged her curves and frayed out at the knees. Still with gold trim, still much gaudier than what she normally wore.

“That is far better than the one you had on before,” Dorian said approvingly. “However did you manage to find a seamstress so quickly?”

“It was a stroke of luck that my seamstress just happened to still be here,” Vivienne said, sauntering to Lana’s side. “Of course even if Hannah weren’t here, I would have never let the Herald of Andraste grace the masses with what she had on before. Thankfully, I was able to speak with dear Josephine about it and convince her to see my side of things. It seems she had not seen the final product before it was brought to the Inquisitor.” 

“And what became of the unfortunate mass of fabric?”

Vivienne smiled. “We found other, more appropriate uses for it,” she replied, her eyes landing on the fireplace. “It was rather chilly in here earlier.”

Dorian chuckled.

“Thank you again, Madame Vivienne,” Lana said. “And to you, Hannah, this is absolutely beautiful.”

The seamstress inclined her head as she stepped away from the final product.

“Of course, darling,” Vivienne said with a satisfied smile. “Now, we must be going, I have my own preparations before the festivities begin.” She eyed Dorian sharply before strolling out of the Inquisitor’s quarters, the seamstress following behind her.

“You look quite dashing,” Lana smiled. “So, you’ve decided to go after all?”

Dorian sighed. “I did.”

“You’ll need a mask, then. Luckily for you, I bought an extra mask when we were in Val Royeaux.” She carefully hurried to her dresser and picked up two masks, both gold and inlaid with tiny jewels. She returned and held one out to him. “Try this one, I think it’s a bit bigger.”

They helped one another with their masks, and Lana beamed up at him. “There. How you managed to look so put-together on such short notice is beyond me.”

“It’s a special talent of mine,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes.

He chuckled. “Thank you for this, though. I wasn’t expecting to be going to any fancy masked parties in Ferelden, so I never bothered to bring one from home.”

She nodded. “Did my brother convince you to come? I saw him going up to see you after I left.”

Dorian pressed his lips together. “I suppose he did,” he admitted.

Lana smiled as she stepped closer to him. “Tonight will be wonderful, Dorian. You’ll see.”

He snorted. “Easy for you to say, with the whole world bowing at your feet.”

“I suppose you have a point.” She took his hand. “But it doesn’t help if you shut everyone out. How will anyone get to know you otherwise?”

“Your brother made that exact same argument,” he said quietly.

“Great minds think alike,” she said with a cheeky smile.

“I am sure they do. Now, let’s be off before I lose my nerve.” He offered his arm to her and led her down the stairs to the main hall.

***

The main hall was exquisite. The chandeliers were decorated with dark green foliage and gold flowers, golden curtains graced the walls, and the long tables were adorned with dark red runners and ivory candles. On one side of the room, one of the long tables had been removed to make space for the musicians, who were playing soft, festive music. 

It wasn’t lavish by the Tevinter standards, but it was beautiful just the same. As Lana and Dorian walked through the main hall, several people stopping them to wish the Inquisitor a happy Satinalia – and by extension him, much to their dismay. But it didn’t seem like it would be quite as awful as he’d originally thought.

And then a familiar face – masked, but not very well-hidden – came into view. Taelan was wearing a dark coat and pants trimmed with gold. The colors suited him well. He looked quite handsome, in fact. Dorian tucked the thought away and he approached them, already with a glass of wine in his hand.

“I’m glad they didn’t make you wear that abomination, El,” he said with a grin.

“Shhh,” she hushed him. “We don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“If we are to speak of hurt feelings, I think we should start with the dress,” Dorian said, “what did that fabric ever do to deserve such treatment?”

Taelan chuckled, and Dorian felt his face warm. Lana pressed her lips together. “Anyway, now that Taelan is here, I believe I should find my _own_ date.” She pulled away from them and slipped into the crowd.

 _No, no, no, don’t leave me here,_ Dorian thought miserably as Taelan turned to him.

Taelan tilted his head to the side. “You look nervous. I don’t bite… not much, anyway.”

Dorian’s face burned. “I’m sure,” he replied. “But on the contrary, I’m rather comfortable at parties such as these. More so than most, I should say.”

“You certainly carry yourself quite well,” he said, his voice lower than before. 

Flirting. He was actively _flirting_ with him. Dorian didn’t know what to make of it. But he reminded himself that Taelan flirted with everyone. Perhaps he was just trying to make him feel comfortable? _If that were his goal he most certainly would have left him to sit comfortably in the library all night._ Or perhaps he was goading him? That would make sense, he supposed. 

_I think my brother might be hoping you’ll be there, too,_ Lana had said. Dorian had seen him act such a way around other people, but it was likely just his personality - even if the look in his eye was more serious than before.

_No, I must be imagining things._

“Wine?” the elf asked, offering up a second glass Dorian hadn’t noticed in his hand.

“That all depends on what kind it is,” Dorian said. 

Taelan laughed. “It’s good, just try it.”

Dorian took the glass from him and sipped. The wine was spiced and sweet, reminding him of summer. He hadn’t had a wine like this since…

“Agregio Pavali?” Dorian said with surprise. “Where did you manage to dig this up?”

Taelan shrugged. “My sister isn’t the only one with connections at her disposal.”

“Do you always have such expensive taste?” Dorian asked.

“Usually,” Taelan said, eyeing him as he took a sip of wine. 

_There he goes again, sneaking in innuendo._

“Well then,” Dorian sighed, “I may just survive tonight after all.”

“I should hope so,” Taelan said. His eyes had softened, and Dorian looked away, pretending to suddenly be distracted by the bustling hall.

“Mistletoe!” Dorian heard someone sing a few paces away. He saw Sera standing on top of one of the chairs, waving mistletoe over a pair of Orlesian nobles, who seemed entirely put off by the intrusion.

Sera laughed as they quickly scurried away.

She hopped off the chair and skipped over toward where the bard named Maryden and Krem were seated. It seemed even the bard had taken the night off to join in the festivities. Sera waved the mistletoe over their heads. Maryden grinned and Krem’s face turned red as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“What, not even a real kiss?” Sera said with a scowl.

Maryden said something to Krem, who was still blushing fiercely. But he turned to her and kissed her softly. The kiss got several of the Chargers to cheer, and Krem pulled away, grinning brightly and hitting one of the other Chargers on the arm. Sera, seeming satisfied, skipped away.

Skipping towards them.

She eyed Dorian and Taelan, and Dorian quickly planned his means of escape without making a scene. But Sera was suddenly standing before them, a mischievous grin on her face as she waved the mistletoe over their heads.

“Mistletoe!” she sang.

Dorian opened his mouth to protest, but Taelan spoke first.

“Sera,” he said, his voice becoming more serious than it usually was. He stepped towards her and whispered something in her ear.

“Oh, fine, spoil the fun,” Sera huffed, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll leave the two of you to be _boring_ over here.”

She skipped away, waving the mistletoe over another unwitting couple.

“So, what did you say to her?” Dorian asked, eyeing Taelan as they walked over to the end of one of the tables.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said as he leaned on the edge of the table. “You were clearly uncomfortable and I would rather not ruin the party for you.”

“I see,” Dorian said, swirling the wine in his glass before taking another sip. “How considerate of you.”

Sera had moved on to several other couples until she reached two guests who seemed offended by the whole thing.

“She certainly knows how to stir a crowd, though, I’ll give her that,” Taelan said. 

They saw Josephine make her way through the crowd, her face brightly smiling at guests as she inconspicuously chased Sera down. Sera was quick to disappear into the crowd, leaving a disgruntled Josephine to turn around and apologize profusely to the couple Sera had terrorized.

Dorian chuckled. “Indeed.”

The music rose through the air, getting louder as a more lively song filled the hall. Several people made their way to the center of the room to dance, elegantly moving in time with the music.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Taelan asked, standing and holding out a hand.

Dorian stared at his hand for a moment. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Taelan said, his hand still extended.

“Right, well…” Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to say. Some small part of him wanted to say yes. He watched as the dancers in the center of the room moved with seemingly choreographed grace in what he assumed was a traditional Fereldan dance. “I don’t know the steps.”

“It’s easy,” Taelan said. “I can show you.”

He thought for a moment. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or the wine, but he took a large swig of the wine and set it down on the table next to them. With a strange amount of courage, he took Taelan’s hand.

Taelan pulled him to the dance floor where they joined the rest of the group. The elf bowed to him and led as they danced in unison with the rest of the group. The dance was surprisingly easy to learn. Taelan was smiling at him like a complete fool, but Dorian found the sides of his mouth tugging upward as they stepped with the beat.

Then at one point, Taelan pulled him much closer than before, and Dorian felt his cheeks burn as something in his eyes changed. The devilish glint had somehow disappeared, and there was a seriousness that nearly pinned him on the spot. The heat of his breath was brushing his skin, and his heart fluttered.

It dawned on him then that the flirting was not just being himself. Not in the slightest. Dorian swallowed.

As the dance came to a close, Taelan bowed again and led Dorian from the dancefloor toward the wall beside where they left their drinks. The elf leaned against the wall, his devilish smirk yet again gracing his features.

_That damned smirk._

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Taelan asked.

“I suppose it wasn’t all bad,” Dorian said. 

Taelan took another sip of his wine. “It’s rather warm in here, don’t you think?”

“A bit, I suppose,” Dorian replied.

“Care to get some fresh air with me?” he asked.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. _If he is attempting to be coy and hoping I won’t notice, he is doing it quite poorly._

"I thought the point of me attending this party was to get to know more people," Dorian replied.

Taelan shrugged. "It will only be for a few minutes."

"Indeed," Dorian said, not entirely convinced that the man hadn't cooked up some kind of plan. "Alright, then. Let's go."

Taelan took his hand, to his utter surprise, and pulled him through the side door that led to the gardens. They slipped out and into the freezing night air, the snow falling as steadily as it had been for days.

“I don’t know how you Southerners stand this sort of weather,” Dorian said, stifling a shudder from the chill that crept up his spine.

Taelan laughed as they walked. “You think I’m a Southerner?”

“Everyone south of Tevinter is a Southerner,” Dorian replied with a smirk. “Which direction are the Free Marches in comparison to Tevinter again? Ah, yes, _south._ ”

Taelan snorted. “I suppose. My clan traveled quite close to Antiva most of the time, though, so I’m not used to the cold either.”

“That does explain your superior sense of style,” Dorian chuckled. “You and your sister are far better-dressed than most of Ferelden.”

“On occasion,” Taelan said. “Though I’m beginning to sense my sister becoming more Ferelden as the days go by.”

“Her apostate lover is no help in that regard, I imagine,” Dorian commented.

Taelan shook his head, leading them through the garden to the gazebo. “Don’t get me started on that man.”

“You don’t care for him, I take it?”

“You could say that,” Taelan said as he removed his mask and set it lightly on a stone bench. “I just don’t know how my sister got so wrapped up in someone who acts like he has a giant stick up his ass.”

Dorian laughed. “We don’t choose the people we fall for, I suppose.”

There was a pause. “No, we don’t,” Taelan replied, looking up at him. 

Dorian cleared his throat, blush creeping across his cheeks once more. He turned away and looked out at the garden. “Though I suppose with the limited options available, you can’t really blame her for choosing someone who might be ill-suited for her.”

“I don’t think Solas is ill-suited,” Taelan replied, his voice softening. “He’s intelligent and kind. Sometimes, anyway." 

“But?”

Taelan looked at him with that pinning look he’d been giving him all night. “I think he’s hiding a lot more than he lets on – it’s like he’s worn a mask for so long that he’s forgotten how to be himself with other people.”

“A mask is often easier to wear than the naked truth,” Dorian replied.

“Only because it’s familiar,” Taelan said. “The real challenge is learning to take off the mask every once in a while."

Dorian snorted. “If only it were that simple,” he replied. 

"It can be." 

“And when have you needed to wear a mask?” Dorian asked. 

Taelan laughed. “I’m Dalish. I may not have needed to hide certain parts of myself as you have, but I know plenty about people developing preconceived notions about who I am before ever speaking to me.”

“Right,” Dorian replied softly. “I apologize, that came out rather poorly.”

Taelan stood. “The point is, if you had the chance to take the mask off, at least for a little while, why wouldn’t you?”

There were many reasons, of course. After his father had attempted to conduct a ritual to make him _acceptable_ , he found the mask he wore to be far more comfortable – more powerful.

“It gives you a level of control that you might not otherwise have,” Dorian replied. “If your enemies know none of your weaknesses, you are less likely to be subjected to their plans for you. If you control the chessboard, you’re never taken off-guard.”

Taelan stepped forward. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?” His voice was gentler now, more intimate than before. His eyes held Dorian’s in a way that made his breath hitch. 

Dorian smirked. “Now what fun would that be?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Taelan said with a laugh.

They were standing close now, and there was something lighter about the elf’s face. As though he were holding on to a secret.

“What is that look about?” Dorian asked.

“What look?”

“It’s the same look you get before you’re about to do anything reckless,” Dorian said.

Taelan’s smile grew. “Noticed that, did you?”

“It’s hard not to.”

“And yet, you didn’t notice where you were standing." 

“What?” Dorian frowned. 

Taelan pointed up, and Dorian’s gaze slid upward.

They were standing underneath mistletoe.

“Ah,” Dorian said. He swallowed, his cheeks burning hotter than they had before. “You know, you never told me what you told Sera when she was waving the stuff in our faces.”

He smirked. “I told her that I would prefer to kiss you without an audience.”

“I see,” Dorian replied. 

The air felt strange around them, stirring as Dorian found it hard to consider what was now laid bare. He wasn't used to someone being quite so... blatant. 

“While we’re here," Taelan said, "it would be a shame to break tradition a second time tonight." 

Dorian paused for a moment, his heart beating wildly. He felt entirely disarmed - and somehow bold. “It would,” he said, surprising himself.

Dorian’s heart was raced as Taelan’s fingers lifted to touch the edges of his mask, lifting it carefully and sliding it off. Dorian’s stomach twisted as he looked at Taelan, bare-faced and speechless as the mask clattered to the ground. Dorian felt the whole world still as Taelan's hands cupped his face, and their lips met. Spiced wine and citrus wrapped around him as his lips parted, their breath mingling as the soft kiss grew hungrier. Dorian wrapped his arms around Taelan, who leaned into him further, and his mind felt like it was spinning out of control. 

Taelan pulled away slightly, and he grinned at Dorian, his face slightly flushed. A dam had broken between them, and Dorian wondered if would even be possible to board it up again. He found he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to board up the dam, put the mask back on, go on pretending that nothing had happened. Perhaps that was why he had tried so hard to despise Taelan. But what would happen if they didn't pretend that nothing happened? Or worse - what if Taelan didn't want to continue? He'd always learned to never expect anything from the other person, to never want more than he was given. 

Dorian swallowed and took a step back. 

Taelan’s smile faded. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Dorian said. “I think… I think I just need a moment. Excuse me.”

Dorian found his legs carrying him away, as far away as he could manage, leaving Taelan standing alone beneath the mistletoe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't planning on this one being so angsty, so... sorry about that. But this won't be my last prompt to feature them, so there may be hope yet! (fingers crossed)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Day Three: The Hound of Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Three Prompt: Animals being festive
> 
> This one was a little harder, I had to wrack my brain more for an idea. Buuut here you go!

“Catch that dog!” a scout shouted as they chased a bounding mabari through the lower courtyard.

The mabari flew past soldiers and other workers alike, his mouth open as he carefully ran up the snow-covered steps that led to the main hall. The scout who was chasing him lunged forward, slipping on the steps and knocking back the others as well. He slid through the main doors, catching the eye of Varric Tethras, who raised his eyebrow at the odd scene. 

The mabari turned and raced to the other side of the hall. He barked at the door, and the dwarven stonemason named Gatsi smiled as he opened the door to the gardens. The mabari barked gratefully as he raced past the alcoves and chantry sisters until he reached the garden. He looked around, sniffing the air. Suddenly catching a scent, he barked as he raced toward an unsuspecting Alistair. He jumped, knocking Alistair to the ground.

“Ooph,” Alistair winced. He looked up at the mabari. “Wait a second… Barkspawn?”

Barkspawn barked happily, panting.

“Maker’s breath, you’re heavier than I remember,” Alistair wheezed, pushing the mabari off of him and sitting up. He frowned. “Wait a minute – how are you here?”

The mabari barked again.

“Is… is she here, too?” he asked.

Several scouts were suddenly rushing through the gardens toward them.

“Come here, you!” one of the scouts said.

Alistair stepped forward and put his hand out. “It’s okay, he’s with me.”

The scouts stopped, and the first one spoke. “Apologies, Ser Alistair. We didn’t realize he came with you.”

“He didn’t,” Alistair said. “You didn’t happen to see anyone else with him, did you?”

“No, ser,” the scout replied. “He just came out of nowhere.”

“Well, I will take it from here, then. He won’t bother anyone else. Will you?” Alistair said, looking down at Barkspawn. The mabari let out a happy bark. The scouts nodded and walked away. “So, where is she?”

Barkspawn tilted his head to the side.

“Did you not come with her?”

Barkspawn barked.

“Then who _did_ you come with?”

“Hello, my friend.”

Alistair turned around to see Zevran smirking as he leaned against a pillar. “Zevran? Wait, how are you here? _Why_ are you here?”

Zevran inspected his nails. “I was asked here, the same as you.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Okay – but _why_ ? And… is she coming here too?”

“No,” the assassin said. “The spymaster asked for my help with a little problem she’s having, and _mi amor_ is ever so busy these days.”

“Then why is Barkspawn here?”

Zevran sighed, standing. “She asked me to bring him along with me for now. How long that will be, however, I’m unsure. But so far he has proven to be a rather reliable traveling companion.”

The dog barked happily again.

“I see,” Alistair said. “So… how is she doing?”

“How are _any_ of the Grey Wardens doing, my friend?”

Alistair grimaced. Mahariel was a strong person – clear-headed and decisive – but Alistair worried about her traveling alone. _You should never travel alone,_ she’d told him the last time he saw her. _You start to forget what you’re truly fighting for._

He hoped she was alright.

“Anyway, the spymaster has invited us to stay for the festivities,” Zevran continued. “So dear Barkspawn and I will be here for a few days. I’m sure the two of you would enjoy catching up.”

Barkspawn let out an affirmative bark.

Alistair smiled. “Well, if you see her soon, tell her she needs to visit sometime.”

Zevran laughed. “As if I could tell that woman to do anything.”

“True.”

Zevran smirked as he slid into the shadows and left Alistair standing alone with Barkspawn.

“So,” Alistair said to the dog. “What did you get me for Satinalia?”

Barkspawn whined.

Alistair laughed as he kneeled down. “It’s alright, boy. Seeing you again is enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barkspawn is the best name for your mabari in Origins 😅 I can't name mine anything else. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. There will be a sequel to the last chapter, I promise


	4. Lady of Sword and Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Ten Prompt (I'm way out of order but whatever): Poetry
> 
> POV: Cassandra Pentaghast  
> Rating: G

Cassandra sat by the fireplace in the armory, flipping through the pages of one of her favorite book serials. _Swords and Shields, by Varric Tethras,_ she thought, agitated. _How dare he write such beautiful things._ The serial a guilty pleasure of hers – she loved romantic stories best of all.

She flipped the page and a slip of parchment fell out.

_My lady brings such grace to sword and shield_

_Eyes of molten onyx, a hardened gaze_

_I am disarmed, I thought my will was steeled_

_Yet I am a fool in a lover’s haze_

She blushed. “What is this?” she murmured to herself, stuffing the parchment back into the book. _How could that have ended up there? Was the poem… about her?_

Cassandra made her way down the stairs to the main level of the armory, trying to avoid the gazes of the blacksmiths. She stepped out into the frigid courtyard, making her way toward her room, near the gardens. Carefully avoiding the gaze of Varric, she slipped through the garden door and through the corridor to her chambers. She sighed as she closed the door behind her.

And there, on her desk, she saw another slip of paper.

_Cinders upon snow, my lady’s lips part_

_And with a sharpened tongue like no other_

_She cut a pathway to my fragile heart_

_For which I may not ever recover_

“Ugh,” she said, tucking the second piece of parchment with the first into her book, and stuffing the book beneath her mattress. _Clearly, this was no accident._ She would need to employ another’s help to get to the bottom of the madness.

***

“Someone is leaving you poetry?” Leliana said, her eyes lighting up. “May I see them?”

Cassandra shuffled slightly as she handed the pieces of parchment to the spymaster.

“Hm,” Leliana said. “It doesn’t appear to be in code – but I think there may be more to this poem.”

“More?” Cassandra said. “Are two poems not enough?”

Leliana shrugged. “It may be a sonnet for all we know.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra said. “I do not wish to find more of this… this…” She didn’t quite know what to make of it if she were being honest. On the one hand, it _was_ quite romantic. On the other, she did not know _who_ was sending these poems, which made her all the more wary.

“I’m sure the rest of it will turn up soon,” Leliana smiled. “Then we can find out who is really sending these. “

“Very well, I will watch for another poem,” Cassandra said, agitated. She left the rookery and marched down the stairs.

“Oh, there you are!” she heard Dorian say as she turned the corner. He opened a book pulled out a slip of paper. “I found this today, in the _kitchens_ of all places. There’s a note on the back that says it’s for you. Steamy stuff, I must say.”

She turned beet red as she snatched the parchment from him and started off until she was a good distance away.

_Tender tongues that whisper, as the fires fade_

_Though the night would try to steal her away_

_It did naught to break the breaths our lips trade_

_But in the embers’ glow, I wished not for day_

Her heart fluttered, and her expression hardened. _Who is this person? Why do they not show their face?_

“Another one, then?” Leliana said behind her.

“Ah!” Cassandra jumped, backing away quickly. “I… yes. This one was found… in the kitchens.”

Leliana chuckled as she read the third verse. She hummed. “It seems I was correct. This must be a sonnet, but… that means there is one more part to it.”

“What more could there be?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Well, there is only one way to find out,” Leliana smiled. “Where did you find the others?”

“In my copy of… erm, in my book,” Cassandra said. “Also in my chambers, and just now Dorian said he found another in the kitchens.”

Leliana touched her chin. “Clearly they are putting it in places you will find it. Is there anywhere else you like to go in Skyhold?”

“Aside from the courtyard, you mean?” Cassandra thought for a moment. “I suppose there is a spot near the mages’ tower, but… I highly doubt it is there.”

“Shall we go look then?”

“No! No,” Cassandra said. “I will find it myself. Thank you, Leliana.”

Leliana smiled as Cassandra hurried off to the mages’ tower. She walked briskly, not knowing if she should feel terrified or excited. _Perhaps both,_ she decided.

Sure enough, there in her usual spot, sat another strip of parchment, being held in place by a rock. She removed the rock and looked at the two final lines of the sonnet. She put the pieces together, reading them all at once.

_My lady brings such grace to sword and shield_

_Eyes of molten onyx, a hardened gaze_

_I am disarmed, I thought my will was steeled_

_Yet I am a fool in a lover’s haze_

_Cinders upon snow, my lady’s lips part_

_And with a sharpened tongue like no other_

_She cut a pathway to my fragile heart_

_For which I may not ever recover_

_Tender tongues that whisper, as the fires fade_

_Though the night would try to steal her away_

_It did naught to break the breaths our lips trade_

_But in the embers’ glow, I wished not for day_

_And although I have sold my soul this night_

_I would not think to ever wrong this right_

She blushed fiercely. It was romantic and _passionate_ and… the wind blew the parchment, scattering it to the ground. She gasped and dove down for the pieces before they could be blown away. Making to grab for the final slip of paper that had been turned over, she froze.

_Happy Satinalia,_

_Varric_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and developed a seething hatred of iambic pentameter.   
> It's not a perfect sonnet, but there you go 😅 Thanks for reading!


	5. Broken Ornaments and Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Four Prompt: Satinalia Tree

Josephine Montilyet pinched the bridge of her nose. “The ribbons need to be higher,” she said, looking back up at the two workers who were decorating the large Satinalia tree in the center of the main hall. The golden ribbons that had been wrapped around the tree were lopsided and uneven – this was truly a nightmare.

She sighed, exasperated. “The ribbons should be _parallel_ with the others! I don’t want them to look as though they have been simply _thrown_ on.”

“I take it things are going well, Josie?” Leliana said as she stood beside Josephine.

“Not unless we can make this tree look better in two days when we have the feast,” she sighed.

The spymaster chuckled. “It will be _fine,_ stop worrying so much.”

“I just want everything to be perfect,” Josephine said. “There will be guests arriving from all over Thedas – benefactors who believe in our cause. I will not let our reputation to be marred by poorly-placed ribbons.”

Leliana sighed. “Even still, things will go well. You’ll see.”

Leliana’s gaze traveled around the room, and she caught a glimpse of the Taelan Lavellan leaning against the table, talking to Varric.

“Do you know if the Inquisitor’s brother is alright?” Josie asked.

“As well as he can be, I would imagine,” Leliana said.

“They seemed so happy at the party the other night,” Josie said, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine what must have transpired.”

“One of my people caught the mage in the library after he left, crying. From what I can tell, the feeling is mutual but too much for one of them.”

“How terribly sad,” Josie said.

“Yes, well, it won’t last very long,” Leliana said. 

“What do you mean?”

“You and I both know people, Josie,” Leliana explained. “And I have learned most of what there is to know about both of them. I guarantee you, by the end of this week, they will be on speaking terms again – if not more than that.”

“Let us hope,” Josie said.

“If not, I may need to intervene,” the Spymaster sighed. “I cannot have one of my top agents working without his head on straight.”

“Who’s not working with his head on straight?”

They turned to see the Inquisitor approach.

“I’m sure you have heard about what happened with your brother,” Josie said.

“Ah, yes,” Lana said, looking over at her brother. “I’ve tried talking to him about it but he keeps brushing it off.”

“I see,” Leliana said. “Perhaps we _do_ need to intervene.”

“How so?”

Leliana touched her chin. “Hm. Perhaps we can solve two problems at once. Josie, you need the tree to be decorated better, and both Taelan and Dorian need a bit of a push. What would you say to us collecting some of the members of the Inquisitor’s inner circle to do the decorations? I am quite certain that they are more than capable.”

Josie looked up at the tree. An ornament fell from one of the highest branches and shattered on the ground. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Very well. Enlisting their help might be best.”

“Very good, I will gather them up,” Leliana said.

***

Varric, Iron Bull, and Cole all arrived first, followed by Vivienne and Sera, then finally Taelan.

“I see we have our work cut out for us,” Vivienne said, crossing her arms as she examined the tree. “Nothing a little magic can’t take care of, I suspect.”

“Remind me again why I’m here? I’m not exactly the… tree-decorating type,” Bull said.

“You are the tallest, Tiny,” Varric said.

“And your horns are a good place to hand ornaments,” Sera snickered.

Bull shrugged. “Fair point. Alright, let’s do this, then.”

“There’s one more person,” Cole said. “Leliana doesn’t want to do it without him.”

“Well, we can’t very well wait all day,” Vivienne said. “Taelan, would you be a dear and go fetch the Tevinter for us?”

Taelan’s face paled slightly. “I… um. I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Don’t be absurd, just tell him that he is needed down here,” Vivienne said.

Lana shared a glance with Leliana. Taelan shifted uncomfortably and nodded, heading toward the door to the side of the room.

As soon as he was gone, Vivienne smiled at Leliana. “A push is a nice gesture, but after what I have seen, I believe a good shove is required.”

Leliana chuckled softly. “Very good, Madame Vivienne.”

***

Taelan made his way up the stairs to the tower, his stomach in knots. He could tell what the others were trying to do, and while it was sweet, it felt too soon. Dorian hadn’t said a word to him since the night of the party. Guilt had wracked through him – he had pushed him too far. Part of him wanted to take it back if it meant that Dorian would just talk to him again. He found himself slowing as he made it to the top step to the library, his heart pounding as he saw Dorian standing by the bookshelf. He was deep in thought as he flipped through a tome, not even noticing the Taelan was standing there, frozen in place. What if Dorian hated him now, and refused to speak to him?

He felt foolish as he stood there, going back and forth about whether or not to say something or walk away.

Suddenly, Dorian turned his head and caught Taelan’s stare. Taelan swallowed. “Uhm, they asked me to come get you. For the tree.”

Dorian slowly closed his book, his face unreadable. “I’ll be down in a moment,” he said, almost too softly.

Taelan nodded curtly and turned, fleeing down the stairs. He crossed the rotunda and headed to the door that led outside. It was too much right now. Too much, too soon – it would be better if he laid low for now. He retreated to his chambers and shut the door.

***

Leliana crossed her arms. It had been nearly twenty minutes since Taelan had left. She looked at Cole. “You sense things Cole – are they coming?”

“No,” he said, sadly. “ _Too much, too soon._ They are both afraid that the other one hates them… but neither of them does. It is… very confusing.”

Leliana sighed. “Well, let us get started, then. We will have to try something else.”

“They just need time,” Bull said. “I’m willing to bet they’ll come around, it just might take a while.”

Leliana looked up at the tree. Iron Bull was right, of course. But there were other matters that needed both of their attention, and it was a risk to send Taelan out on a mission before the issue was resolved.

“Now, let us fix this mess before more of the ornaments topple over,” Vivienne said.

The door to the tower opened, and Dorian stepped out. Everyone paused to look at him. His eyes scanned the group, and his face fell slightly. _It seems Dorian wanted Taelan to be here,_ Leliana thought. _Perhaps it won’t take as long as we thought._

Dorian schooled his expression and looked up at the tree. “Ah, I can see why Josephine required our help. With a little magic, it will be right as rain.”

“My thought exactly,” Vivienne said.

“Ugh,” Sera groaned. “Why can’t we just decorate it like normal people?”

“We will still need to do some of the decorating ‘normally,’” Vivienne replied. “But magic will make it far more exquisite. Shall we?”

The tension in the room lessened as everyone began hanging ornaments and twisting the ribbon expertly around the tree. Dorian and Vivienne performed an enchantment on the tree’s branches to make small lights shine around the tree like stars, shimmering beautifully.

Josephine left her office when they were finished, and smiled brightly. “Oh, this is far better. Thank you all, I am sure our guests will be quite pleased.”

Everyone slowly made their way out of the room, and a quiet settled around Josephine and Leliana.

“I take it that our plan did not work fully,” Josephine said. “What happened to Taelan?”

“He never came back,” Leliana sighed. “So it seems I will have to take the matter into my own hands and try a more direct approach.”

“I wish you luck,” Josie said. “From what I hear, Dorian can be quite stubborn.”

“He is not the one we need to worry about, it seems,” Leliana said. “Dorian, at least, made the effort.”

“Surprising, but quite promising,” Josephine said. “They always have been so good together.”

“Indeed,” Leliana said. “Taelan is quite the troublemaker sometimes, but Dorian has a way of helping him focus more. He’s quite protective of those he cares about – we will need that focus when we leave for Adamant.”

“We will need it even more when we go to the Winter Palace,” Josephine sighed. “We cannot have either of them saying the wrong thing at court, or it will be all of our heads.”

“Agreed,” Leliana nodded. “In any event, we should rest. We have a long week ahead.”


	6. A Stranger at the Gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature (slightly NSFW toward the end)  
> Prompt: OCs Making Merry

The wind howled relentlessly through the Frostback Mountains, a snowstorm raging as a cloaked woman stepped through the snow to a ledge that looked out toward Skyhold. Her golden eyes looked over the path ahead of her. It was long, but she could make it there soon if she rode quickly. She didn’t want to get stuck out in the storm that had been following her since she arrived in the mountains. Letting out a huff, she pulled her cloak tighter as she collected her horse and rode down the path that would eventually lead to the hidden fortress.

When she finally reached the bridge, her horse slowed to a steady trot as she reached the closed gate.

“Halt! Who goes there?” a guard said from inside the gate.

She slid off her horse. “I’ve come to aid the Inquisition,” she said. “I have heard Grey Wardens are needed.”

“Hmph, very well. Open the gates,” the man called above. “I’ll notify the Lieutenant.”

The gate creaked open, and she stepped through the gates, guiding her horse along. The fortress was impressive, she noted. 

An armored man who she could only assume was the lieutenant approached her with the guard in tow.

“I’m told you’re a Grey Warden,” the man said. “Are you a deserter, then?”

“No,” the woman said. “I was given leave to aid the Inquisition.” She handed a sealed scroll to the lieutenant.

He opened the seal and read the letter. “The Warden Commander sent you?” he said, surprised. “Very well. We’ll outfit you in the morning. For now, there’s food and drink at the Herald’s Rest. Go rest, you’ll need it.”

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head. “Is there a stable nearby?”

“Of course,” he said, pointing behind him. “Bring your horse there, Master Dennett will take care of everything.”

She nodded and led her horse to the stable. A man by the stable was brushing one of the horses. He turned to her and frowned.

“Haven’t seen you around before,” the man said.

“I just arrived,” she said. “Are you Master Dennett?”

“I am,” he said, looking to her horse. “You can bring her to the stall at the end. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

“Thank you, ser,” she said.

He gave a gruff laugh. “None of that, I’m no ser. Just doing my duty.”

She smiled and brought the horse to the stall, brushing her affectionately. “Stay here, I’ll be back in the morning.”

The horse whinnied and stepped over to the water trough. She sighed. Her muscles ached from the journey. “I think you have the right idea,” she said. As she stepped away from the stall, she saw a man sitting by a fire in the barn. Her eyes caught a Grey Warden armor plate sitting on the table beside him. She stepped over to him.

“Greetings, Warden,” she said to the man. He had black hair with gray streaks and a thick beard. He looked up at her with steel gray eyes. He stood, eyeing her curiously.

“Hello there,” he said. “You’re new.”

“Indeed,” she said. “My name is Neria – I’ve just come here from Weisshaupt fortress.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. There was a sudden nervousness behind his eyes. “I’m Blackwall.”

“Warden Constable Blackwall? I have heard of you,” she said.

He nodded. “It’s nice to meet another warden – I haven’t seen many since I joined the Inquisition.”

She nodded. “I imagine not. Many of us have gone missing, though I hear most of them have gone to Adamant.”

“That is true,” he said. “We’ll be headed there soon, I’d imagine. It’s been overrun by demons.”

“At least it’s not just darkspawn this time,” she noted. “Things are bad enough with the Calling plaguing us at every turn.”

“Right,” he said, shifting. “It hasn’t been easy.”

“How are you faring with it?” she asked.

Now he definitely looked nervous.

“I’ve been managing well enough. I won’t let it get to me.”

_Interesting._

“Well,” she said. “I best be going. I hope you have pleasant dreams.”

“You as well,” he replied.

She inclined her head and left the barn. _I wonder why you’re lying, ‘Warden’ Blackwall._

Walking through the fortress, her face still shrouded by her cloak, she made her way to the tavern. She pushed open the door and was welcomed with heat. Her eyes scanned the room, looking at the mix of elves, dwarves, and humans in the tavern. _And one Qunari,_ she said, looking at the large man in the back. He eyed her, his face neutral.

She schooled her own expression. The way he was watching her… she wondered if he still belonged to the Qun.

Moving on, she crossed the room to the bar. Sitting on a stool, she was greeted by a stone-faced dwarf.

“What’ll you have?” he asked.

“Ale, and whatever food you have,” she replied.

He nodded simply, and filled a tankard with ale, sliding it to her. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, disappearing through the door behind him to the kitchens.

A body filled the seat beside her. She casually looked to see a Dalish woman, who looked particularly worn out.

“ _Aneth ara, lethallan,”_ she said.

The woman looked to her, surprised. “ _Aneth ara,”_ she smiled. “I didn’t expect to see another Dalish here – are you new?”

Neria nodded, taking a sip of ale. “I arrived just a little bit ago.”

The woman smiled wider. “Welcome, then,” she said. “My name is Lana Lavellan. Which clan do you come from?”

“Sabrae,” she answered, and frowned. “You’re the Inquisitor.”

“I am,” she said, “but don’t worry, you don’t have to treat me differently.”

Neria chuckled softly. “Fair enough. I know the feeling of not wanting people to treat you differently because of your position.”

Lana nodded. “Did you come here from your clan or…?”

“The Grey Wardens,” Neria replied.

“A Grey Warden?” Lana replied, her eyes lighting up. “Then you must be here to aid us at Adamant?”

“Indeed,” Neria replied. Cabot appeared and slid a bowl of stew in front of her. She thanked him and he nodded before filling another tankard and sliding it to the Inquisitor.

“You should have a drink with me and my brother,” Lana said. “I’d love to hear a story of your journeys, if you don’t mind. I’ve always found the Wardens to be fascinating.”

“I suppose I could oblige,” Neria replied.

Taking her bowl and tankard, she followed Lana to a table in the corner. She eyed the Qunari, who was _definitely_ taking note of her now. _Bodyguard to the Inquisitor, then._ They sat down at a table with a Dalish man, and Neria slid into the bench on the wall. She didn’t like having her back exposed – not even here.

“Who’s this?” the man asked. He had dark blonde hair and green eyes, similar to his sister’s, with Dirthamen’s vallaslin.

“I am Neria, of the Sabrae clan,” she replied.

“And a _Grey Warden_ ,” Lana said, sitting across from her.

The man eyed her curiously. “Interesting,” he said, clearly assessing her. “My name is Taelan.”

“A pleasure,” Neria said. 

“So, tell us of your travels,” Lana said, sipping her ale.

“Yes, I’m sure you have many interesting stories to tell,” Taelan said. “Where did you come here from?”

“Weisshaupt,” Neria replied. “I travelled here to aid the Inquisition after we heard what was happening at Adamant. Troubling stuff, indeed.”

“Have you ever fought a demon?” Lana asked.

“I have, though I suppose the feat rings rather hollow now,” Neria replied. “Many have had to fight demons since the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Lana seemed slightly embarrassed. “Oh, yes. You’re right.”

“Inquisitor!” a voice said above them. A dark-haired woman with blue eyes and a wide grin approached them. “I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Hawke,” Lana smiled. “Care to sit with us? We were just speaking with our new Warden recruit.”

Hawke looked at Neria cautiously. “Oh, sure,” she said, sitting beside her. “Here to help the Inquisition, then?”

Neria nodded. “It seems the Wardens have fallen into a bit of a disarray. The Warden Commander sent me to assist in the efforts.”

“The Warden Commander?” Taelan asked, his eyes assessing her further. “Which one?”

 _Clever boy,_ Neria said, hiding her smile.

“Not Clarel, if that is what you are worried about.”

“You don’t sound Orlesian,” Hawke nodded, relaxing slightly. “I wonder, do you know Warden Alistair?”

“I do, in fact. I have heard he is helping the Inquisition as well.”

“Neria here is from the Sabrae clan,” Taelan said. He turned to Hawke. “Say, isn’t your friend Merrill from the same clan?”

“She is,” Hawke nodded. “Did you know her then?”

“I knew her well,” Neria replied. “But we haven’t spoken in years. We leave our former lives behind when we join the Wardens.”

“Well, if you ever wanted to write to her, I could have Varric get a letter to her. She’s living in Kirkwall now.”

“Thank you,” Neria replied.

Hawke paused for a moment. “Were there many of you that joined the Wardens?”

Neria paused. “There were not, so far as I am aware. But as I said, I left many years ago.”

“Isn’t the Sabrae clan from Ferelden?” Taelan asked.

“It is.”

“Then why would you…” Hawke stopped. “Wait a minute. You’re not…”

“Neria Mahariel, right?” Taelan said.

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Lana said.

Neria sighed, lowering her hood to reveal black hair that was cut just past her chin. “Indeed. Though I suppose it was too much to hope for a quiet evening of anonymity.”

Lana sat back. “But we tried to… you decided to come anyway?”

Neria sipped her ale. “Leliana convinced me. She was always quite persuasive. That, and I’ve heard that both Alistair _and_ Zevran are here. Those two cause enough trouble as it is, but together they are quite a handful.”

Hawke chuckled. “That is true.”

“Well then,” Lana said. “I’m glad you’re here. And here for Satinalia, too! We’ll have to celebrate.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Neria said. “I would rather not make a fuss.”

“We can be quiet in our celebrating, then,” Hawke said with a smirk.

Neria smiled. “Alright, then. But I am trying to surprise Alistair. He doesn’t know I’m here, either.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” Hawke said.

“Mind if I join you?”

The Qunari stood beside the table, his one eye still staring at Neria.

“You don’t mind, I hope?” Lana asked Neria.

“Of course not,” Neria replied. “I have no qualms with the Qunari.”

The Qunari smiled as he sat. “I’m The Iron Bull,” he said.

“ _Shanedan._ I am Neria,” she replied.

“A Dalish elf who speaks Qunlat,” Iron Bull chuckled. “Now that’s not something you see every day. You one of the Viddathari?”

“No,” Neria replied. “I don’t believe anyone under the Qun would like me very much.” 

“She’s a Grey Warden,” Lana answered.

Iron Bull eyed her again. “A Grey Warden?”

“Indeed.”

“High up on the food chain, then?”

Neria tilted her head to the side. “Why do you ask?”

“You just look like someone who’s seen a few battles in her lifetime, led people.”

“And you seem like someone who spends much of his time watching people. Ben-Hassrath, then?”

He smirked. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”

“You know,” Hawke said with a mischievous smile. “Isabela told me that you play a mean hand of Wicked Grace. You up for a game?”

Neria assessed her. “I suppose a round or two wouldn’t hurt.”

“Did I hear Wicked Grace?” a dwarven man said behind them. He had blond hair that was tied back – _and no beard?_

“Varric!” Hawke said. “Just in time. We were about to start a round.”

They pulled up another table and Hawke dealt cards to everyone. Neria was content as they played and joked, the night growing less tense as the hours rolled by. Their revelation about her identity stayed a secret, even as they were joined by other members of the Inquisitor’s inner circle – Sera, an elf from Denerim, Cole, a strange boy with an otherworldly look in his eye, and Krem, Iron Bull’s second in command all joined them as well, and they eventually had to move to a larger table.

It was nice to forget the rest of the world for a while – the Calling had dulled as her senses did, and she found herself able to truly laugh.

When the group grew tired of stories and games, they slowly began to file out until only she and Lana remained.

“Thank you, _lethallan_ ,” Neria said as they both stood up. “This night was… not what I expected it would be. It was a pleasant welcome to your organization.”

“I’m glad,” Lana said. “I can arrange for you to stay in a good room while you stay, too.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Neria replied.

“Please, I insist,” Lana said. “We have a vacant room in the tower that no one else has been planning on using. You are more than welcome to it.”

“You are too kind,” Neria said as they both stood up.

Lana walked with her out of the tavern, and they walked through the snowy courtyard to the castle.

“Tell me something,” Lana said. “I’m told you left the Wardens – is that true?”

“It is,” Neria replied. “When many of us starting hearing the Calling all at once, it seemed like something was very, very wrong. I heard of a former warden who was cured – I decided to look for the cure myself. And so, I left. The others could not be convinced to follow me, and I found that I work better on my own.”

“We could help you, you know,” Lana said. “To find the cure, I mean.”

“You have your own war to wage, Inquisitor,” Neria replied. “This one is mine.”

They made their way through the main doors. It was quiet in the main hall, but it was beautiful. There were Satinalia decorations everywhere, but she could see beyond it – the power of the Inquisition radiated from the throne on the far side of the room. They were a force to be reckoned with, indeed.

Perhaps the world could be saved, yet.

Lana led her through a door, and into a rotunda. There was an elven man reading a large tome at a desk near the center of the room. He looked up at them, and his eyes lingered on Neria as he stood upright.

“Inquisitor,” he said, smiling warmly at Lana.

“Solas,” Lana said. “I didn’t realize you were still awake.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, touching the tome in front of him. “I lost track of time. Who is your friend?”

“I am Neria,” she said, inclining her head. 

“She is a Grey Warden, here to help us in the fight at Adamant,” Lana explained.

Solas looked back at her. “A pleasure,” he said. “We will need all the help we can get in the battles to come.”

Neria noted the strange amulet he wore around his neck. “Indeed,” she said. “And I see you have equipped yourself against superstitions as well.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Your wolf jawbone necklace. To ward off the Dread Wolf, I assume?”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “It is an old trinket I have carried with me on my journeys. I suppose you could call it a reminder not to forget what has been lost.”

“Indeed,” she said.

They bid the elf named Solas goodnight. _What an odd man._

Lana led her up the stairs and to her room.

“Thank you, _lethallan,_ ” Neria said, inclining her head.

“Of course,” Lana replied. “If you have need of anything, just ask. And if you wish to see Leliana, she will be on the next floor up probably sometime in the morning.”

“I will visit her in the morning, then. She will be very cross with me if I do not,” Neria chuckled.

“I imagine so,” Lana smiled. “Have a good night.”

“You as well.”

Neria retreated into her new room and conjured fire to light the candles in the room. She turned and started as she saw a lean figure leaning against the wall behind the door, inspecting his nails.

“So, _mi amor,_ ” Zevran said, his eyes meeting hers. “When were you going to inform me of your arrival?”

Neria crossed her arms. “You seemed to have no trouble finding out for yourself.”

He pushed himself from the wall and walked towards her as he crossed his arms. “But that did not keep you from sending a letter. I assume you have been in contact with the Nightingale?”

“I have,” she said, lifting her chin to his. “But I doubt she expected I would actually respond to her request.”

“I see,” he said with a smirk. “She was trying to protect me from disappointment.”

“More than likely it was Alistair she was hoping not to disappoint,” Neria replied.

Zevran laughed. “He is far more likely to heartbroken than I am.”

“I don’t know about that,” Neria said, crossing her arms behind her. “I can think of another person who would have been rather cross with me if I did not show up.”

“I do not know if ‘cross’ is the right word,” he replied. “I am quite resilient, if you recall.”

“You seem rather cross now,” she said, tilting her head to the side.

His brows furrowed. “I am not cross. I am… confused, that is all. You insisted that you did not want me to follow you, and yet you are here.”

“Would you rather I left?” she asked.

“No!” he said quickly. “Ah, no. You… it’s simply…” he sighed. “You are so very frustrating at times.”

She cracked a smile. “You are rather cute when you are flustered.”

“And you are quite mischievous for someone who is always so serious,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger, his lips hovering over hers.

“Only with you,” she said softly.

He smirked. “I believe you enjoy teasing me far too much.”

“You make it easy, _vhenan,_ ” she said.

“Is that so?” he grinned as he stepped away toward the door. “I suppose two can play at that game.”

He had barely touched the door handle when she pushed him against the door, capturing his mouth with her own. He chuckled against her lips as he wrapped his arms around her. She breathed in the scent of Antivan leather and jasmine oil. He hadn’t changed much since they had seen each other last. They unclothed each other as they moved through the room, making quick work of it as they had the last time they had seen each other.

But as they laid together on her borrowed bed, Zevran took his time kissing her gently as his fingers caressed her bare skin. Unhurried and gentle, he held her tightly as he filled her. She undid the braids in his hair, running her fingers through the blond locks.

She kissed the tattoo on his temple, holding him close as the heat rose around them, their breaths heavy as they rocked together. His arms tightened around her as he quickened the pace, and she shattered, and he followed close behind.

He rolled away from her, catching his breath. He propped himself up with his arm, and stared down at her, a wicked smile on his face. “A persuasive argument for me to forgive you, _mi amor._ ”

She smiled as she twisted onto her side to face him. “Zev, I don’t believe you have ever been able to hold a grudge against me.”

“Yet,” he corrected. “The night is still young.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible, _ma vhenan_.”

“Impossible not to adore, you mean.”

She grinned as she pushed him back, kissing him slowly before pulling away. “Only some days.”

“A shame,” he smirked. “Because I adore you every day, _mi amor._ ”

“Even when you’re frustrated with me?”

“Even then.”

She rested her head on his chest and he curled around her. It was a small moment in time, but she wished it would last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the holidays are technically over, but I'm determined to finish this, so I'll be posting more soon. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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